


The Roads Out West

by canmetal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Castiel is Jack Kline's Parent, M/M, Only One Bed, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-20 16:00:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30007359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canmetal/pseuds/canmetal
Summary: Dean drives a camper around the American west, looking for something. Himself, maybe?He doesn’t know what he expected to find but it sure as hell wasn’t an angel of the Lord.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 13





	1. Interstate 15

**Author's Note:**

> cw / canon typical violence, references to torture, internalized homophobia
> 
> Tags and content warnings will be updated as needed. 
> 
> No beta.

For his 40th birthday, Dean decides to retire. 

It really started when Sam met Eileen. She had ended up working the same case that Dean and Sam were on. Suspected banshee giving an old folks home trouble. She stabbed the sucker right in the heart with a golden knife. Sam had been smitten ever since. 

Dean can’t blame him. His sister-in-law is one hell of a hunter and has a much better personality than his jerk of a little brother. 

Dean’s a lot of things but he’s not stupid. He could see this coming. An old abandoned bunker isn’t any place for newlyweds. It’s not a place to build a life. Sam and Eileen have plans. They want to set up some kind of hunter network. 

So when Sam tells Dean that they’re looking at buying some property, Dean isn’t surprised. He goes out with Sam and Eileen to check it out. It’s a few acres of abandoned farmland. The house is big. Enough for a couple and plenty of guests. They repair the shabby workshop, set up a makeshift gun range, and dig a pit for Sam to test out his more explosive spells. 

Sam offers Dean a room there. Dean stays for a while but it just doesn’t feel right. He slips into old habits. He’s bored. He fusses over Sam. He drinks a lot. With the hunting network in full swing, there are fewer cases for Dean to take. He feels like some kind of caged animal, pacing back and forth. Waiting. Just waiting for something, anything to happen.

He yearns for the open road. 

He could stay. Get more angry and frustrated. Yell at Sam for every little thing. He lived that life once. He doesn’t really want to again.

Yet, for the first time in his life, he can’t muster the willpower to hunt. It seems pointless now. There’s more people these days, with more skills and resources. Dean isn’t getting any younger. 

Retirement it is. 

* * *

The hardest part about leaving is Baby. Sam and Eileen are a close second. She’s been with Dean for so long. As much as it hurt him to admit it, she’s not perfect and a truck camper cannot fit on the back of Baby. So she’ll have to stay at the Leahy residence. She’ll be in good hands. Dean threatened to cut-offs Sam’s if anything happened to her. 

Dean buys a pickup truck. He was all set to buy a rust bucket before Sam intervened. Put on his best “I’m concerned about you” face and dragged Dean to an actual car dealership. 

The asshole used Dean’s weaknesses against him. He told Dean would worry about the truck breaking down or Dean being standard far from help. Really laid it on thick. So now, Dean was the proud owner of a respectable used Ford. Extended bed. Even so, Sam gave him a AAA membership. God, his brother is the worst. 

Dean finds the camper on Craigslist. He didn’t go with the cheapest one available. Despite what Sam thinks, he does have a little self-preservation. Sam accompanies him to check it out. The guy selling it is friendly enough. Some dentist looking to downsize. 

It’s a truck camper in good condition, roughly a decade old. Dean’s spent the last month researching his options. Thankfully Youtube is a thing. There’s no end of people willing to point a camera at their face and give an in-depth tour of their camper or RV. The truck camper seems right. It’s just gonna be Dean so he doesn’t need a lot of space.

The seller gives them a tour before briefly leaving to fetch the paperwork. 

Sam walks around the camper, trying to discern its secrets.

“You sure about this?” Sam asks. “You know you have a place with Eileen and I.” 

Dean knows. He’s grateful for that but he needs this.

“Sammy,” Dean begins. He doesn’t know how to explain this. “You know I love you and Eileen. But the life you’re building, to be honest Sam, I don’t know. About a lot of things right now. Maybe I’ll hate it and come back after a day. I just need some time.” 

Sam looks back at the camper. “I may not understand but I get it.”

“They teach you to be that eloquent at Stanford?” Dean teases. “I, uh, do appreciate it though.” 

Sam grins, “Of course, Dean. I'm also glad you decided to purchase a decent rig. This almost doesn’t look like a death trap.” 

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

* * *

The camper itself is pretty nice. Little dinette on the right as you walk in. Wet bath on the left. The kitchen has got a sink, three burner stove, microwave, and miniature oven. There’s room for a queen size bed up top. Dean puts in a memory foam mattress. He’s not giving up everything.

Charlie swings by to see him off. She also brings a complicated mess of electronics and installs a whole range of equipment in the camper. Dean doesn’t quite know what all of it does but she assures him he can get WiFi and charge his laptop on the camper batteries. Dean’s got a list of movies he needs to get through.

It’s a deep dark secret but he also gets Spotify for his phone. His piles of mix-tapes would take up too much room in the camper. He stuffs his favorites in the glovebox of the Ford. 

Dean, Sam, Eileen, and Charlie sit in the workshop. Drinking beer and talking about nothing in particular. 

“Where are you going,” Eileen asks. 

Dean looks at her and shrugs. Nowhere. Everywhere. 

“Dude, you need at least a direction,” Charlie says.

Eileen's eyes suddenly light up. She signs to Sam. Dean’s smirks, leave it to his sister-in-law to think of something like this. 

Sam returns with an old fold-out of the continental United States. Eileen takes it and pins it to the wall. She pulls a knife from her boot and hands it to Dean.

“Throw it.”

Dean tosses the knife in his hands. It’s a small weapon, utilitarian in nature. Good for close quarters combat. It will do. 

Dean hurls the knife at the map. It lands with a thud, just east of Las Vegas. 

Well, Dean always liked the west. 

* * *

His destination is technically a few miles east, but Dean figures Las Vegas is an acceptable detour. The drive from Lawrence to Vegas is about 18 hours. Dean takes a lot longer. It’s different from a hunt. There’s no end goal. He can just do whatever he likes.

So he does.

Cassie is in Denver these days. She’s married but it's nice to see an old friend. They eat lunch at some new age cafe. She laughs when she hears he’s retired. Tells him that this life suits him. He doesn’t ask what she means by that.

He’s at a disgusting rest stop one night. The sound of crickets fill the night air. He bought a tattered guidebook at a roadside stand miles back. Dean’s never loved the outdoors. It’s usually cold and there was a high likelihood of a vamp jumping you at any moment. But hell, he drove all the way here. He can at least try to commune with nature. Zion National Park looks beautiful. 

It’s more crowded than Dean thought it would be, but the photographs didn’t do it justice. He sits on the tram, stuffed in with other park guests and listens to the ranger talk about the history of the park. Dean only half listens, he stares up at the canyon walls. They dwarf everything below.

Dean then gets the bright idea to go hiking. Angel’s Landing is a little much for him. He’s faced down cold-blooded killers but pushy tourists on a sheer cliff doesn’t sound like a great time. Instead, he huffs it up to Observation Point. 

He has the physique of a hunter. He’s made for quick bursts of action. Hauling his ass up 2,000 feet in the wrong shoes almost kills him. He cannot see how people do this for fun. 

The view is almost worth it. Almost. He sits there for a long time, drinking what must be gallons of water. The very walls that looked like mountains yesterday, seem smaller but no less spectacular. He looks down at Angel’s Landing in the valley below. It’s full of people. Suckers. 

Dean eventually finds the willpower to descend. It’s getting toward evening and he wants to try and see the Milky Way tonight from his campsite. Dean has stargazed before. If a hunt was too much or Dad kicked him out again or some other bullshit, Dean would drive. Drive until he couldn’t see another soul. He would lay on Baby’s hood and stare up at the night sky. Mom had told him angels were watching over him but on those nights, he felt alone. 

This feels different. It’s a little hard to stargaze, there are lights from the other campsites. Dean can see the stars all the same as he lays on the roof of the camper. The guidebook was right. Zion is beautiful. 

Vegas is Vegas. He gambles, meets a few lovely women, enjoys the Strip afterdark. Still, Vegas is full of traffic. 

Dean leaves. He could go east but he’s always wanted to see the beach. So he drives. The beach is fantastic but Los Angeles is also full of traffic. He keeps going. Takes his time up the coast. He runs low on cash past San Francisco. 

He could call Sam for money. It’s not pride that stops him. Okay, maybe a little. He wants to keep going at this and propane doesn’t pay for itself. Asking Sam for help feels like defeat.

It’s just Dean’s luck though that he ends up near broke in Mount Shasta. 

* * *

Dean surveys his options as he walks around town. His skill set isn’t exactly the kind of thing that fits neatly on a resume. He doesn’t know how well he’d fit in at a rock shop/tourist trap. 

Then he spots it. Actually, he feels it. The thick, almost tangible sense of the supernatural. It’s coming from a seedy looking bar. Can’t hurt to check it out.

The place is busy. They sell typical gut grease to tourists. A little out-of-place but Dean’s not in the position to be picky. He orders some beers from the barkeep, a friendly woman. She’s armed to the teeth. All concealed but Dean knows a hunter when he sees one. The night wears on. He waits until the place is quiet. Just him and the drunks, passed out at their tables. 

An older woman emerges from the kitchen to talk to the barkeep. She glances at Dean, her widening in recognition. 

“Are you Dean Winchester by any chance?” The woman asks. 

Dean hesitates, “Depends on who's asking?” He doesn’t know anyone in California off the top of his head. 

The woman reaches across the bar, offering her hand to Dean. “I’m Jody Mills. I run this place with my wife, Donna. Your brother, Sam Leahy, co-runs a hunting network out of Lawrence right? I’ve taken some online workshops from him and Eileen. You're featured in several powerpoint presentations.”

Of course Sam would do something like that. 

“What brings you here? Is it a case? There’s not many hunters out here worth a damn and we’re retired,” Jody tells him. 

“Semi-retired,” Donna adds, patting Jody on the back.

Jody looks fondly at Donna and rolls her eyes. “We still take cases now and then. Mt. Shasta’s full of the supernatural. I’m sure you’ve read the brochures.”

Dean explains why he’s in town. Well he says he's on an extended road trip. The exact reasons don’t need to be said. He’s looking for work, least till spring rolls around. 

Jody and Donna give each other a look, something passes between them. 

Jody smiles warmly at Dean, “We don’t hunt enough to need all that much help but you aren’t dead which is a good sign for a hunter. Too many die young. You can bartend for us, if you want. Wouldn’t hurt to have another pretty face around here.” 

Dean throws back the last of his beer, “Ain’t exactly got a lot of experience.”

Jody shrugs, “I don’t need you to know anything. I just need you to do what I tell you.” 

Bartending isn’t the best gig around but it’s not the worst. Most of the clientele are tourists or grumpy locals complaining about the tourists. Jody, Donna, and him trade hunting stories during the evening. Those two have seen some shit. 

Jody pulls Dean aside, soon after he starts working. 

“Son, you ever meet a strange sort around here. Don’t turn them away.” She whispers, as if this is secret information. 

“Strange, Jody? Half the people in this damn town are strange.”

“I know that. I mean, actually strange. Other worldly. There’s the supernatural sure but I didn’t believe all that crap about the mountain until I saw it myself,” Jody says.

“Are there really aliens?,” Dean asks, maybe a little too enthusiastically. 

“Dean, this isn’t Star Trek.” Jody pauses, “Well maybe it is. Donna and I were out driving once. We were just married, no real plans for the future. We were on some god forsaken back road and an old man appeared out of nowhere. I almost hit him. I pull off to ask what in the hell was wrong with him. Except I didn’t. Something stopped me. He asked for a ride back to town. He sat in the back seat, never said a thing the whole time. We get him here and he says he’d like to repay our kindness. He pointed at this fine establishment. It was a shithole back then but we fell in love with it the minute we walked in. Just something about it. Never saw that old fellow again.” 

Dean doesn’t quite know what Jody is trying to tell him. “So I should let strange men into my car?” he ventures, half-joking. 

“I’m just saying, not everything is as it seems. We’re hunters. We’re trained not to trust the unknown. Just, there are places out here. People. Things that defy everything you know. You didn’t say it but I know you're looking for something out here. Don’t be afraid to find it. Have a little faith. Who knows who or what that fellow was. I’m here all the same.”

Dean considers her point. Despite what the tourist pamphlets tell him, nothing out of this world has happened to him in Mount Shasta. There’s the occasional supernatural creature but Dean’s seen it all. He knows what’s out there. 

Every night as he drives up to the little pad he’s rented for his truck, he does think of Jody’s story though. 

He never does run over any strange men.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jody’s story is based on an anecdote from Colin Dickey’s The Unidentified: Mythical Monsters, Alien Encounters, and Our Obsession with the Unexplained.


	2. Wyoming Highway 22

Dean makes plans for the spring. Well, he pins his fold-out map to a tree outside his camper. Throws his old hunting knife. It’s the only one he still has. Lands near the Grand Tetons. It’s as good a plan as any. 

A week later, Dean’s motoring up the Teton Pass Highway. The road is winding, with a steep grade. He passes sign after sign urging caution. 

In Baby, it would have been thrilling. With the camper, it’s nerve wracking. Dean can only imagine this must be a nightmare to drive in the dead of winter. With this many pull outs though it does give him the opportunity to stop and rest. 

He chooses a gravel patch where several cars are parked, it looks to be a trailhead. He can see south for miles. There is an old timey sign that reads “Howdy Stranger. Yonder Is Jackson Hole. The Last Of The Old West.” Fat chance these days. 

He leans against the cab, shoving a day-old muffin into his mouth. He really needs to cook actual food. The sun hangs low in the sky, evening fast approaching. The other travelers around him come and go. Well, if they can. There’s a woman with an RV that’s given out. 

An overdressed business type in a trench coat catches Dean’s eye, might be from Jackson. Dean watches him stare sorrowfully at a crappy Lincoln Continental. Given the terrain, it most likely died. 

Dean should get a move on but he’s tired. He slept too many nights on the bench seat of the Impala during his hunting days. At least now, he’s got an actual mattress. He doesn’t need his usual four hours right now, a quick nap should suffice. 

Dean’s alarm goes off an hour later. He regrettably gets out of bed, stuffs another muffin in his mouth and gets out of the camper to resume his drive. Trench Coat is still there, staring at his pimpmobile, as if his gaze will miraculously cause it to start. 

“Hey,” Dean calls out, mouth half-full of muffin, “you havin’ a little car trouble?” Dean can probably help Trench Coat out. Seems better than the guy’s plan of glaring at his car. 

Trench Coat looks up, squinting at Dean. He feels like his very soul is being examined. 

“My car refuses to start,” Trench Coat says. 

“Yeah, I can see that. You’ve been here awhile,” Dean replies. Has this guy not even called for help? 

“Yes, I have attempted to restart it in the usual manner. I fear that it is beyond even my powers to repair it,” Trench Coat tells Dean. Apparently intensely leering is the usual manner this weirdo does car repair. 

Dean suppresses an eye roll, “I could give it a try. I know a thing or two about cars.” 

Trench Coat gives Dean a questioning look but nods all the same. “I appreciate your offer, Mr. –” 

“Winchester. It’s just Dean though. Dean Winchester.” 

The guy doesn’t seem to be bothered by Dean’s flustering, he gives a polite smile, “Castiel.” 

Sounds biblical. Dean doesn’t bother to ask. 

Castiel was right about one thing. His piece of shit car refuses to start. There’s at least a dozen things wrong with it. 

“Well, it’s done for. You should probably call for a tow,” Dean tells him, leaning over the hood. 

Castiel’s expression is unreadable, “I’m not from around here.” 

Dean thinks. Castiel’s mess isn’t really his problem but he can’t leave the guy stranded on some mountain pass. He’s a lot of things but he is not that much of a dick. Besides, he came prepared. 

“Don’t worry. I got myself a AAA membership. They can get someone out here to tow this down to Jackson. We’ll just tell them that we were driving together. We're travel buddies. Two dudes finding themselves. Best friends.”

“You want me to lie to a motor club?” Castiel asks, eyebrows raised.

“You’ve got a better plan? I, well, my brother, bought this membership for something,” Dean says, gesturing at the ruined car for emphasis. 

Castiel considers this brilliant plan for a moment before shrugging. 

The tow truck takes its sweet time getting there. Dean googled the name of a nearby garage. The reviews were decent enough. The driver offers them a ride with him but Dean can see Castiel's exhausted.

“We’re getting a ride from a friend. Aren’t we Cas? We can check on the car before heading into town,” Dean interjects into the conversation. 

Casteil doesn’t miss a beat. “As my travel companion was saying, that is exactly what is happening.” Castiel says, tone serious. He’s really selling their cover story. 

The tow truck driver can’t be bothered to care as he loads the Continental.

Once the tow truck is out of sight, Castiel gets in the passenger side of the Ford, small suitcase in hand, and slumps against the seat. He closes his eyes. Dean sets off, the sound of the engine rumbles loudly. 

“Cas?” Castiel asks, his voice quiet. 

Dean’s focused on surviving this pass. He doesn’t bother to turn and look at Cas.

“Yeah. I mean we  _ are _ best friends. Friends give each other nicknames. Really added depth to our story,” Dean tells him. 

He can hear Cas’s snort but he doesn't say anything. They drive to Jackson in silence. 

* * *

Singer’s Automotive is closed for the night. Repairs will have to wait until morning. Dean had planned to drive past Jackson, stopping only for gas and a place to dump his wastewater. Camping sites were always hard to come by in these places, but most times Dean can find some place to pull off for the night. The problem is Cas doesn't have any place to go. So they sit in the parking lot, eating the last of the stale muffins and some ramen Dean cooked three days ago.

“I saw a lovely place across from the Elk Refuge, on the map. They may have a vacancy,” Cas says, pointing vaguely north. 

Dean almost chokes on his ramen, “Dude, those places cost like a million a night.”

The dinette cushions turn into a mattress. It’s not great but it’s a warm bed.

“The cost is of little concern. The elk will be migrating soon and I wish to see them while I am here,” Cas says, as if it’s a reasonable suggestion. 

Dean opens his mouth to refuse. There’s no way he can let Cas drop that kind of money on him. The most Dean did was drive him a few miles. 

“I insist Dean. It’s not common to find strangers so willing to offer assistance. Let me repay your kindness.”

There was a time in Dean’s life that he would have refused but in truth, he’s actually a little touched by Cas’s offer. A lot of people would have blown Dean off by now. 

So they end up at some upscale resort. The room types all have ridiculous sounding names and a frightenedly long list of amenities. Dean’s keen on the in-house laundry. He’s a little overdo to stop by a laundromat. Thankfully there’s a double queen available. 

Dean is way too thrilled to shower in something with decent water pressure. When he comes out, Cas has changed into sweat pants and an oversized t-shirt. Cas is not a bad looking guy, but seeing him like this makes Dean’s mouth go dry. 

Dean channels surfs for a while. Cas us busy reading up on elk.

“What time do you want to go check on your car?” Dean asks, absentmindedly as he flips channels.

“Mid-morning will do. I want to buy tickets early.”

Dean’s head snaps towards Cas, “Umm, for what?”

“The sleighride. It’s near the end of the season and this will be an excellent opportunity for us to go.” 

* * *

Cas really wasn’t kidding about the sleighride. Dean does insist on paying for his own ticket. This whimsical jaunt ain’t cheap. 

Their sleigh is pulled by two giant chestnut horses, Belgian Drafts according to the tour guide. 

She’s mostly there to make corny jokes and drone on about the history of the elk refuge. Cas takes an astronomical amount of photographs, even forcing Dean in for several selfies. 

“The elk have wintered here for thousands of years,” Cas whispers. “They migrate to the valley for better access to food and protection from severe winter weather.”

“You're tryin’ to replace the tour guide?” Dean jokes. 

“Hardly. I simply find it wondrous that despite everything that has happened, the elk still instinctually come here every year,” Cas says. 

Dean surveys miles of flat valley before them. There’s still a good amount of snow on the ground. The elk are shaggy, coming out of the hardest winter months. It smells like damp hay and shit. Still, these elk made it through the winter. There’s the promise of spring around the corner. 

Dean does disagree with Cas’s assertion that he’s not trying to replace the tour guide. Between photographs, he leans into Dean and tells him all sorts of fun elk facts. 

“Elk grow waterproof hairs in the winter. It protects them from the wet and cold.”

“The top canine teeth of elk are called ivories.”

“Antlers are the fastest growing bone tissue of any mammal.” 

Dean finds himself enjoying Cas’s impromptu lesson. It’s nice to sit back and listen to his deep, gravelly voice. With Cas pressed close, it feels as if they’re the only two around. Not the worst way to kill a morning. Besides, Cas is far more interesting than the tour guide. 

* * *

The car is officially announced dead at 11:43 AM. The needed repairs could take weeks, if they can get it running at all. The old mechanic delivers the news, grim faced. Cas is greatly saddened by his car’s untimely demise. 

“I’ve had it since Jack was born. I needed it as a means of transportation. It was in satisfactory condition. I must admit I did not think I would get attached to a machine. I suppose it's fitting it would break down now,” Cas says. His hands on the hood of the car, as if he’s about to lay it to rest. 

“Why is that?” Dean asks. He doesn't want to knock the guy for mourning a vehicle. Dean wouldn’t know what to do if anything happened to Baby. Baby’s a classic though. This pimpmobile is not. 

Cas sighs, turning to face Dean, “My son went off to college this fall. Perhaps it's fate that the car I raised him in saw fit to leave me now.” 

“You’ve got a kid?” 

Cas smiles, practically beaming. Dean realizes that Cas hasn’t smiled like that until now. 

“Yes. Jack. He’s eighteen this year and a freshman in Seattle, here –”  Cas pulls out his phone and begins showing Dean photo after photo from a folder entitled “Jack:)” Cas helping Jack move into his dorm, various photos of Jack at college, with friends, Jack standing in front of a cabin. Cas stands there for a solid ten minutes, telling a man he barely knows, how great his son is. It’s a little surreal for Dean.

Dean listens, wondering if Jack going away to college was hard on Cas. They seem close. 

Cas finishes, the last photograph is of him and Jack backpacking. He glances at Dean and must read his thoughts. 

“Jack has long dreamed of going to college. I am so proud of him and so happy to watch him grow into adulthood. I cannot say it has been a completely smooth transition for me. Raising Jack has always been my sole focus here. I have been somewhat wistful as of late.” Cas says, his smile barely fading. 

Dean pats Cas on the shoulder, “So you’ve got empty nest syndrome. Happens to the best of us.” 

Cas tilts his head, eyebrows scrunched, “You’ve also experienced a sense of loss after your child leaves home?”

Dean stiffness. He hadn’t meant it like that. 

“Kinda,” Dean says. It’s the best explanation he can think of.

Cas nods, seemingly accepting Dean’s answer. 

Dean’s quick to change the subject. “So, what are your plans now?” 

Cas deflates, glancing between the car and the distant mountains. “I’ll fly home I suppose. I live out in Washington. I had hoped to stay out here longer.”

Before Dean can even think he blurts out, “Come with me.” 

Cas raises his eyebrows, a clearly surprised expression on his face. Which, fair. He hasn’t known Dean for 24 hours.

Instead of backpedaling, Dean’s brain decides that this is a great suggestion and plows fullspeed ahead. “I, uhh, don’t have any set plans. I was going to dick around Yellowstone for a while after Grand Tetons. We could head towards Washington after that. You were talking about a new phase in life and all. We could be travel buddies. The camper’s technically got another bed….” Dean stops. He doesn’t know what he’s proposing exactly. 

Dean expects Cas to tell him to get lost. Or maybe a polite thanks but no thanks. Cas doesn’t seem the overtly rude type. He likes the guy though, maybe they can do other touristy crap around Jackson before Cas flys out. 

“Yes,” Cas says. 

“Yes?” Dean repeats. He couldn’t have misheard that. Right?

“Yes, I have enjoyed our short time together. I think you will make an agreeable travel companion. I can always fly away should I tire of the open road,” Cas says, a small grin on his face.

Dean stares at him.

“That was a joke, Dean.” 

Dean cracks up. He doesn't know why. It wasn’t even that funny. 

“Sounds like we got ourselves a plan, buddy.” Dean says, once he’s able to form words again. 

Cas drags Dean to the Museum of Wildlife Art after that. Dean’s beginning to think the guy has a thing for nature. 

* * *

Sam isn’t too happy with his plan when Dean calls him. Dean doesn’t mention too many details, just that he’s found himself a travel buddy and he’s going to be on the road for another few weeks at least. 

“You’ve been on the road almost six months. Now you’re pissing around with a “travel buddy.” Did you even bother to check if the guy isn’t a demon or something?” Sam asks. It sounds like an accusation. Of course he checked. 

“I didn’t realize I needed your permission before talking to strangers,” Dean says, mood souring. 

“Don’t be dramatic. I’m just wondering when you’re coming home,” Sam retorts.

“I don’t know. Sometime, okay.”

Sam sighs deeply into the phone, “You can’t just leave and not expect –”

“Why the hell not?” Dean snaps.

“Dean…” Sam tries. Dean knows that tone. It’s the one Same uses when he thinks Dean is being stupid. 

“No. You get to piss off to Stanford for four years but when I want some time for myself, suddenly I can’t have it?” Dean didn’t mean to say that. Well, not like that. 

There’s silence on the other end. 

“I’ll be home when I fucking feel like it, Sam,” Dean forces out. He hangs up.

He should call back and apologize. Try to actually explain himself. He doesn’t. 

Instead, he grabs a six pack, opens the camper door, and sits on the stairs. The beer tastes awful. Some cheap crud he bought days ago. It will do. Cas is standing across the visitor center parking lot. He’s talking on the phone to Jack presumably. 

Dean’s half-way through his beer and not feeling any better when Cas comes back. He takes one look at Dean and frowns. Is he really that obvious? 

“I don’t mean to pry Dean but is something the matter?” Cas asks.

Dean takes a sip of beer. Cas doesn't need to hear the gory details of his fight with Sam. All the same, Cas is a practical stranger. It might be good to get an outside perspective. 

“I had a fight with my brother. He was asking when I’d be home. I said some things that I didn’t mean to say,” Dean says. He sighs. How does he explain his relationship to Sam without all the crap about Dad, the fire, everything. 

Cas sits down on the step below Dean. He gazes out into the snow covered fields. He waits. 

“Sam and I, well, long story short, I raised him. Besides his time at college, we’ve always been together. I think he’s concerned about me, the way a brother would be. I, just. Christ, I’m not making any sense,” Dean mutters. 

Cas turns to face Dean, “You sound very close with your brother. It can be difficult when such relationships change. You are exploring and setting boundaries when perhaps you have not in the past.” 

Huh. Cas may have a point. He wonders where Cas learned this touchy-feely stuff. 

“I took a “Thriving with Teens” course when Jack turned thirteen,” Cas says. Damn, he really is a mind reader. 

‘I still was a dick to him when we talked today,” Dean says, polishing off his beer. He grabs two more, handing one to Cas. 

Cas looks suspiciously at the beer before opening it. He makes a face when he drinks. 

Dean swats at Cas, “It’s not that bad. You’re gonna tell me I need to use my words aren’t you? I can see it in your face.” 

“Perhaps,” Cas says, scowling at his beer but taking another sip. It’s good to see he’s adjusting to Dean’s lifestyle quickly. 

They drink and talk about their plans for the next few days. They’ll head to the Tetons tomorrow. After that, Dean wants to see the Geysers at Yellowstone. They looked pretty in his guidebook. Cas wants to see the wildlife. He draws Dean a map of all the places they’ll be stopping at, like he’s planning a battle. 

Dean texts Sam before he goes to bed. It’s easier than having to talk. The only sound in the camper is Cas tossing and turning trying to get comfortable on the dinette cushions. 

**Dean:** Look bitch I’m sorry

**Sam:** You certainly sound like it. 

**Dean:** I am sorry. I shouldn’t have said that shit. You wanted to go live your life and you did. I’m working through some bulltshit but that’s not on you 

**Sam:** Dean, you know you can always talk to me. 

**Dean:** course I do Sammy 

**Sam:** I’m just concerned. Sometimes you get into your head and I worry. You don’t have to come home just because we miss your award winning personality;) 

**Dean:** Awww, I miss you too <3

**Sam:** Dean :/ 

**Dean:** I’m good! I’m just enjoying it out here. Finding myself I guess??? The truth is that I don’t know when I’ll be back

**Sam:** You’ll always have a place here. No matter how long it takes you to get your head out of your ass

**Dean:** Fuck you

**Sam:** I love you too. Eileen says hi. 

**Dean:** Tell her she’s my favorite Leahy 

**Sam:** She’s my favorite too:)

* * *

There is the small problem of the Continental. Dean’s pretty sure Cas would prefer to give it a viking funeral. Since the ocean is a few hundred miles away, Dean goes down to Singer’s Automotive to see if he can sweet talk the owner into getting it towed to a junkyard. Cas offered to go with him but the guy was barely out of bed. Besides, Dean figures he might have better luck. 

There’s someone at the desk. It’s the same mechanic who helped them yesterday. A grizzled old man, typing angrily on the computer. 

“Morning,” Dean says. He puts on his best smile. 

The guy narrows his eyes at Dean, gestures for him to lean in. 

“I didn’t know who your odd friend was yesterday so I didn’t say nothin’ but I gotta ask. You Dean Winchester by any chance?” 

“Yeah,” Dean answers.

Please don’t be…

“I’ve taken some classes from Mrs. Leahy. Her course on advanced warding was excellent. You’re featured heavily,” the old man says. What the fuck are those two telling people? Dean’s getting famous at this point. 

“I’m glad you liked the course,” Dean tells the guy, he doesn’t need to piss him off. 

“The name’s Bobby. Bobby Singer. I imagine you’re here about the deathtrap.” It's not a question 

“Yep” 

“It’s barely worth scrapping. I honestly don’t know how your friend got that damn thing to run. Tell you what though, one of my boys is convinced he can get it working, The kid’s had a rough few years. I can take it off your hands if your friend wouldn’t mind giving the kid the car,” Bobby offers. 

“I think that is a great suggestion, Mr. Singer,” Cas says. He’s right next to Dean suddenly. 

“Dammit Cas, warn a guy next time. I thought you were still comatose,” Dean grunts out. Cas ignores him. 

Bobby raises his eyebrows but shakes on it with Cas nevertheless. 

Before they leave Singer Automobile, Dean gets an idea. 

“Hey Cas, grab the license plate. We can stick it on the camper fridge.” 


	3. U.S. Route 26

Cas has two modes, Dean decides. The first is that of a relaxed wanderer. They drive around the Teton loop, getting out when they want and staying for as long as they please at various attractions. Cas does a little hiking while Dean relaxes in the sun near the visitor center. 

The other is a military commander. On their way to Yellowstone, Cas shows him his list of objectives. He wants to see the best wildlife viewing areas. Not even the devil itself will stop him from achieving his goals. At least he added the geysers Dean wanted to see.

They see wildlife. They see so much wildlife. Bison, elk, deer, all sorts of little critters. Cas even tracks down a bighorn sheep on a steep cliffside near the north entrance of the park. Dean noticed that bears were on Cas’s list but he’s not too keen. Still the wildlife hasn’t tried to attack Dean or steal his soul. 

The geysers are something else. The Grand Prismatic Spring is just as colorful as the guidebook reported. It smells a whole lot worse too. Cas is set to drag Dean on another lap of the park but Dean insists they rest at Old Faithful. 

“This geyser is only well known due to its predictable timing. I wish to try and see if any black bears are out in Hayden Valley at sunset,” Cas huffs as they sit on the benches near Old Faithful. 

It's not set to blow for another forty minutes but given the crowds Dean thinks his decision to get here early was correct. He’s stocked up on snacks before staking out a seat. 

Dean laughs, stuffing more overpriced fries into his mouth, “Dude, we don’t have anywhere to be. I’ll drive you back and forth across the valley tomorrow if you want. Let’s just relax.”

Cas sighs, a little over dramatically, and steals some fries from Dean. 

“You promise?”

“I promise Cas.” 

Cas hates mornings but he’s apparently all too willing to wake Dean up at the ass crack of dawn to drive into the park. The sun hasn't even broken the horizon as they drive from Lake Village to Canyon Village. 

Cas motions for Dean to stop at every pullout so he can glass across the valley with his binoculars. On their third drive through, Cas spots a fuzzy black blob. He assures Dean it's a black bear. 

Dean isn’t a fan of getting out of his cozy camper so fucking early but it might be worth it. He sits on the stairs of the camper, coffee in hand, enjoying the sunrise, and watching Cas stare off into the distance. 

They do actually see some wolves, to Dean’s surprise. He draws the line at sleeping in the back country to find a grizzly. Cas doesn’t seem to be upset after Dean buys him a stuffed one at the giftshop. 

* * *

They spend another two weeks in Yellowstone, doing all the touristy crap. They have to agree to buy just postcards, to put next to the old Continental license plate after Cas went a little overboard at a new agey gift shop. Cas seemed hurt Dean didn’t want to buy Yellowstone themed handmade candles. 

Living in cramped quarters with another man is surprisingly easy. It never feels crowded with his travel buddy. Dean usually gets up first, makes breakfast while Cas complains about how early it is, even if it’s 10:00 am. Dean kicks him off his bed so they can actually eat at the table. 

They do whatever they want all day. Dean makes dinner most nights, Cas’s talent for cooking seemingly limited to reheating various dishes. Dude is an amazing baker though. Dean almost wishes they had a real kitchen. They do the dishes together before doing their own thing. 

It’s not perfect. Cas insists on maintaining an actual sleep schedule. He has no problem glaring at Dean until he puts his phone away at night. Despite this horrible treachery, Dean worries about Cas’s sleep. He can seem to get comfortable. 

Cas also does yoga and somehow guilted Dean into it as well. They have to do it in the open which makes it so much worse. Dean had steadfastly avoided telling Cas about his former profession but he’s not wrong about Dean needing to take care of his body. Hunting has taken a heavy toll. 

Sam had tried for years to get Dean to do this. What Sam didn’t know wouldn’t kill him. 

Dean got the bright idea to suggest a friendly game of Words with Friends. Cas had mentioned knowing several languages, Dean thought it would be a good way to bond. 

Cas proceeded to wipe the floor with him. 

Dean grimaces at his phone. Another loss. “Really Cas? Have some mercy.”

The asshole has the nerve to look Dean straight in the eyes, “You said this was a low stakes game meant to deepen our relationship. Surely you would not be upset at my victory.” 

“Fuck off,” Dean says, throwing the dish towel at Cas’s head. “So rematch?” 

Cas dodges the towel effortlessly, “Of course, although I was wondering about our travel plans?” 

“I kinda thought we’d head up to I-90 and head west. Missoula sounds interesting,” Dean says. He had declined to mention his usual method of selecting a destination. 

“What about Craters of the Moon?” Cas asks, holding up the map on this phone. 

“You wanna see some rocks,” Dean asks. His guidebook had waxed poetic about the “rugged beauty” of the place and based on the pictures, it lived up to its name. 

“I would like to see how much it resembles the moon. The plant life sounds fascinating as well,” Cas says. Of course this dork would be into the plants 

“Sure, why the hell not.” 

* * *

The drive out to Craters of the Moon is miles and miles of open range. Dean has always loved these kinds of drives. Nothing around except the open road, Zepp blasting on the stereo. Besides not having to gank some horrifying monster, the only difference is Cas occasionally saying “Cow!” as they drive past another one grazing. Cas did try to change the spotify playlist. He wasn’t too pleased with Dean’s house rules. 

Well, Cas ain’t driving. 

The visitor’s center’s not shabby for being out in the middle of fucking no where. Some gold prospector had called the place a “mass of black vomit.” 

Cas comes up beside Dean, staring angrily at the pamphlet on geology, “I don’t understand the name. This place is nothing like the moon. The moon certainly doesn’t have such a rich ecosystem.” 

“ _That’s_ your main complaint?” 

“It is unfortunate. I did enjoy everything else. I particularly enjoyed the lesson on sagebrush. Did you see the display?” Cas asks, gesturing towards it. 

“Kinda hard to miss it since you hauled me around the exhibits and read each and every sign aloud,” Dean says, shaking his head. 

They walk along the quiet halls, away from the main lobby. Cas makes some notes of a few hikes he wants to do later in the day. Dean watches out the window aimlessly as Cas corners a park ranger to interrogate them on sagebrush varieties. This place feels alive despite the name. Perhaps that’s why Dean likes it. 

They plan to spend one more day here before traveling on to the Sawtooth Range. It’s out of the way but Cas insisted they needed to actually camp. Spend some time in nature. Apparently they weren’t getting enough already. 

* * *

It’s late. Dean’s been texting with Sam about strategies on how to improve his Words with Friends skill. Jody has been checking in on him. She’s got some trouble with vamps. Mount Shasta is never quiet. 

As usual the only sound is Cas tossing and turning. It’s been gnawing at Dean for days. Cas hasn’t said anything but Dean can see he’s not sleeping well. Kinda unfair for Dean to have his awesome memory foam while Cas gets the lumpy cushions. 

Dean had reviewed his options. They could get a mattress topper to put over the cushions. Except where are they going to store it during the day? Dean could ignore the problem, except he can clearly hear it all night. Dean could get an air mattress but he’s back at the space issue again. 

The easiest solution was simply to allow Cas to sleep in his bed. Nothing weird about that. 

Maybe a little. But Cas is a weird guy. He agreed to go road tripping with a stranger. What’s a little bed sharing. 

“Cas, you awake?” Dean whispers. 

Cas rolls over onto his stomach so he can look at Dean, “Yes, I apologize if I’m keeping you up.” 

“Dude, that’s obviously not comfortable for you. I get it. We both aren’t spring chickens. You can sleep up here if you want,” Dean offers, trying for a neutral tone. Completely normal. Just helping a friend. 

Dean expects an awkward pause. Cas doesn’t even hesitant.

“Thank you, I think I will sleep much better with you,” Cas says, already getting up. Why did he have to phrase it like that? 

Cas clammers up the stairs to Dean’s bed, blanket and pillow in hand. 

Cas has barely laid his head down before he's out cold. Dean should roll over and go back to sleep. He can’t help but look at Cas in the low light of the camper. Much like himself, Cas is showing his age. A little grey at his temples, lines etched across his face. He’s handsome all the same. 

Dean turns over to stare at the window. He’ll deal with those thoughts later. He closes his eyes and falls asleep to the rhythmic sound of Cas’s breathing. 

* * *

They drive northwest for another several days to reach Sawtooth National Forest. Dean was worried that bed sharing would make things weird. It’s a little awkward to wake up with another man in his bed but Dean actually sleeps better. 

Cas is a warm weight against his back. For some reason, Dean hasn’t had nightmares. He’s always been plagued by bad dreams. Occupational hazard. Now he doesn’t dream so much as sleep. A whole eight hours. 

They pull off at a Gas-n-Sip before they really get into the backwoods. Cas hands Dean his credit card, they’ve been trading off on paying for gas. Dean’s got enough cash from last winter but he could use a little spending cash. This place has several fine establishments, perfect for hustling. 

“Do you want anything from inside?” Dean asks Cas as he waits for the truck to fill up.

Cas shakes his head, “No, every product this chain sells is awful. I do appreciate the offer though.” 

“Didn’t know you had strong opinions on gas station food,” Dean says. 

“I used to work in one when Jack was first born. It seemed the most straightforward way to earn an income. I became very familiar with all their dietary offerings, unfortunately,” Cas says, with a disgusted expression. Dude’s not wrong. 

Cas hasn’t talked a lot about how he makes a living. That suits Dean just fine. Dean’s not too eager to share either. 

Cas fiddles with his wallet, “I eventually got a job at a local nursery. I was hardly qualified but I think the owner was amused or took pity on me. I would show up often with Jack and teach him about the various plants.” 

Dean feels for Cas. He’s not mentioned Jack’s mother so he probably was a single father.

“You still work there?” Dean asks. He’s curious and Cas did offer this about himself. 

“I actually bought the store when the owner retired. Well, I bought it with a friend. It’s a small shop. It covers what I need. Meg seemed a little too eager to get rid of me when I went on my trip. I’ve actually been thinking of selling my half. I’ve been writing more and more the last few years,” Cas says.

“Dude, that super impressive. More than I could do,” Dean tells him. Cas must have worked his ass off to raise his son and earn a living by himself. 

Cas gives him a doubtful look, “I find that hard to believe Dean, you’ve shown yourself to be very capable in our time together.” 

Dean begins to feel his face redden so he bolts into the Gas-n-Sip. He doesn't want to embarrass himself in front of Cas. It was one compliment, why is he blushing? 

They sit in the camper while Dean eats his road food and Cas munches on some bison jerky left over from Yellowstone. 

“You know anything about pool?” Dean begins. He’s gonna have to gauge Cas’s reaction

“Billiards?” 

“Cas, no one says that. Anyway, I sometimes play for fun. And money. You got an interest in helping?” Dean asks, eyes trained on Cas in the rearview mirror. 

Cas doesn’t look all that surprised, “We’re going to hustle pool?” 

Dean stuffs the last of his pretzel in his mouth, “Yes, dumbass. We. It’s easier with two people. I mean, if you’re cool with that.” 

“I’ve already committed fraud with you. Hustling pool hardly seems worse,” Cas says. The AAA thing was not fraud. A little white lie, at most.

They muck about town till evening. There’s some rowdy bar down from the gas station that fits the bill. It’s mostly locals but a group of college-aged kids catches his eye. They’re probably camping in the Sawtooths.

For a dork who owns a nursery and writes on the side, Cas sure has a natural talent for pool. Dean should have known, the guy’s got a serious competitive streak. He sits at the bar and watches Cas play a few rounds with the kids. 

Dean downs another beer, jumps off the stool, and walks over to the pool table. He asks Cas if he wants to make the game interesting. One twerp takes the bait. Raises Dean’s friendly bet by a few hundred. Dean pretends to hesitate but matches the bet soon enough.

Cas proceeds to kick everyone’s ass. The little twerp is mad as hell but his friends rein him in. Cas smiles at the pile of cash he’s won. He tucks it into his wallet and saunters out of the bar. 

Dean waits around for a bit. He doesn’t need to get the locals suspicious that Cas and him are together. He orders another beer, smiles sympathetically at the table with the twerp, and rambles out to the camper after half an hour. 

Cas is reading quietly at the dinette. 

“You seem to have a natural talent for crime,” Dean teases, taking off his coat and sitting across from Cas. 

Cas looks up, “The legality of hustling is disputed in many places. For what it’s worth, billiards is a game of skill. I believe that young man learned that lesson tonight,” he says, seemingly serious.

Dean laughs, “Has anybody ever told you that you are very odd?”

“You, mostly,” says Cas. 

“I mean it in the best way buddy. Never change,” Dean replies. “Anyway I’m going to hit the sack. Try not to wake me up when you haul your ass into bed.” 

“Goodnight, Dean,” Cas says. Despite Dean’s ribbing, he’s got a grin on his face. Dean likes that more than he should. 

* * *

They camp along the Salmon river, staying a few days at each campsite. There was a quick stop in Stanley at Cas’s insistence. He wanted photos. Dean tries not to get too emotional about the view. 

Most days, Dean sets up a hammock outside the camper and usually reads or listens to music. Cas likes to hike, tries to drag Dean along with him. Dean resists. He’s not got the proper gear and it will be a cold day in hell before he starts dressing like a tree hugger. Cas has the whole getup. When he’s not dressing like a tax accountant, he’s in zip off convertible pants and moisture wicking shirts. He’s got five billion jackets for all possible weather scenarios. 

“They are very practical for all seasons and water resistant” Cas had told him about the pants. Dean didn’t care how practical they were, they look ridiculous. He definitely does not notice how well they hug Cas’s thighs. 

Dean’s resting in his hammock, listening to the sound of the nearby river. Cas is out communing with nature. 

Dean has had a lot of time to think out here. Always dangerous. He could think about real issues. His growing attraction to Cas, his pending sexuality crisis, where they're gonna do laundry next.

Well, that list isn’t entirely accurate. 

Dean had his sexaulity crisis way back when. As many kids surely do. There was a cute boy in his 10th grade chemistry class. They would talk for hours after school, sitting far too close together. Dean was only at that high school for a few months so nothing ever happened. Except the sexuality crisis part. 

Dean knew not to talk about it though. Not to think about it. Not to act on it. Dad never said anything. Dean suspected that if he ever found out…

It didn’t matter anymore. Dad was dead. 

So Dean’s attracted to men. Doesn’t mean anything. _Bisexual, Dean. It’s a thing._ He can hear Sam say. Fuck him. 

So he’s been thinking of not real issues. Wild speculation. 

He’s lived in the supernatural world for so long. It’s all he knows. That’s why he can’t get the idea out of his head. Has to be. Just, the more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense. 

Dean’s pretty sure Cas isn’t human. A solid 70% sure. 

It started with the nightmares, or lack thereof. Since Cas has been sleeping with him, he doesn’t wake up covered in sweat, heart pounding. He sleeps through the night. Since he started traveling with Cas he has hurt less. He’s had aches and pains since he was a teenanger. They are still there but less so. The water tank holds 33 gallons. Good for a few days. It lasts longer than it should. The sorta mind reading. The Continental running on some sort of miraculous power. Cas’s comments about the moon. 

His bizarre tattoo. 

There’s not a lot of privacy in a camper. They change next to each other, respectfully not looking, of course. Dean can’t help but see it out of the corner of his eye. A tattoo on Cas’s ribs, in a script he has never seen.

Cas has been polite enough not to ask about Dean’s anti-possession tattoo so Dean returns the courtesy. The tattoo is otherworldly in such a familiar way. Just, when he’s around the supernatural there’s typically a lot more blood. 

He feels safe around Cas. He likes sleeping in a bed with him. He enjoys his company. 

Dean doesn’t know what to do. He can’t just ask. It will be very awkward if he is wrong. Dean’s gonna have to explain about the supernatural. It would be a complete shitshow. 

He can’t even figure out what Cas is. He can perform minor miracles, can somehow go to the moon, adores nature, and is a loving father. What kind of creature does those things? 

Sam might know but Dean doesn’t want to tell him. Cas isn’t a mark they’re hunting. He’s Cas. 

Does it matter what Cas is? If Dean asked himself a year ago, he would have said yes. Now, not so much. 

Dean’s curious though. He wants to know Cas but he doesn't want to scare him away by prying. 

Dean decides he should wing it. 

Cas might volunteer the information himself once he trusts Dean more or an opportunity might present itself. Whatever happens, Dean knows to be careful. Cas is the best thing to happen to him out here. He doesn't want him to leave. If Dean is being honest with himself he wants more from his relationship with Cas.

All he can do is pray everything works out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Mass of black vomit” is part of a quote from Julius Merrill featured in the visitor center. The full quote is, "It was a desolate, dismal scenery. Up or down the valley as far as the eye could reach or across the mountains and into the dim distance the same unvarying mass of black rock. Not a shrub, bird nor insect seemed to live near it. Great must have been the relief of the volcano, powerful the emetic, that poured such a mass of black vomit."


End file.
